The moon hung low over the palace gardens.
Lysa had found Rowan sitting alone on the stone bench by the fountain; the same bench where they had shared their first tentative conversations. But tonight, he wasn't watching for her. He was staring at the water, his hands clasped between his knees, his shoulders heavy. The night jasmine scent seemed distant, muted.
"Rowan?" She sat beside him, close enough to feel his warmth but not touching. "What's wrong?"
He didn't answer for a long moment. The fountain splashed. Somewhere an owl called.
"I was married before," he said finally. "Before the war. Before any of this."
Lysa's heart clenched. She had known he had a past...everyone did. But he had never spoken of it. Not once. She waited.
